Entangled Alliances 6: The Web Tightens
by SheriAnn
Summary: Thomas has a discussion with Lucas--followed swiftly by a reunion of friends.


_Disclaimer: This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel. Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood. The Non-Allied Powers are the products of this authorís own deranged mind, as is the Ulysses . . ._

_Alternative Reality: some elements have been changed from canonical tradition. For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics. Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon. In addition, because of the Non-Allied Powers (situated in a place called "Dominia," another element outside the seaQuest canon), this work can be seen as an Alternative Universe piece._

_Sequel: "Entangled Alliances" is a sequel to--yeah, you guessed correctly--"Entanglements with the Enemy." Let me know what you think of the new title (it used to be "More Entanglements with the Enemy"! I'd love to hear them!_

_Rating:**PG-13**, rated as such because of some adult themes and language._

_Summary: Lucas plays boom-boom once again with his vortex. The only real question is . . .who is his enemy? :-) _

_Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Entangled Alliances   


Part Six   
The Web Tightens

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nervously, Lucas stared at the information in front of him. The words momentarily blurred before his eyes, but he wiped the tears away before forcing himself, once more, to look at the articles on vortex engineering. He had to figure something; he had to invent _some_ way of dealing with this problem. He only wished he knew what that "some way" was.

They had about five minutes more, according to his watch, before General Thomas would return to take them back to . . . wherever. He didn't even know what the bastard would want, either, when he _did_ return. Did he expect Lucas to have drawn up plans for converting the vortex into a weapon? Did he expect a perfectly designed analysis, complete with formulae and schematics?

He doubted that the General, intelligent as he might be, truly understood the implications behind what had happened on the _Ulysses._ Lucas had produced a _renegade_ vortex. Lucas called it a "renegade vortex" because it was not behaving as expected: it was, theoretically, a "renegade." It defied all the laws of physics. Yet General Thomas fully expected him to produce a weapons system that made this "renegade behavior" normal. 

Lucas snorted. Right. Sure. Five hours was plenty of time to design an entire weapons system, calculate the complex numbers involved, and sketch out a prototype for a system that was theoretically impossible. Yeah. Plenty of time.

Lucas shifted on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was clearly dealing with the impossible, but he knew Thomas was insane. It wouldn't matter to the man if his expectations were insane, too. He'd just want them fulfilled. Lucas just had to come up with some way to seem to fulfill those expectations . . . 

The key word, Lucas knew, was _seem_. He had to seem like he was following Thomas's orders, or his friends would be harmed. He just wondered how much Thomas understood about vortices. Obviously, fooling him would be easy if he knew next-to-nothing. But Lucas suspected that Thomas, while completely and indisputably insane, was still an intelligent man. An intelligent man would know enough about vortices to know if Lucas was following his orders.

The door opened, and Lucas looked up, eyes wary. He swallowed hard.

It was Thomas.

The General entered the room, his gaze carefully slipping between Nelson and Lucas. The two were sitting on the floor, side-by-side, a pile of papers and notes sprawled around them. He smiled slightly. "It seems we've made some progress here."

Lucas and Nelson simply remained silent, each watching the General and wondering what would happen next. Lucas felt his nerves dance under the General's dark stare.

"What progress have you made?" The question was sharp, brisk. Above all, it was calm and collected: there was no anger or insanity burning in his eyes now. Lucas knew Thomas was, at this point, sane enough to think rationally. Thus, he would probably spot any overt deception almost instantaneously.

Slowly, Lucas caught Nelson's gaze. He held it for a moment, then looked back at the General. Thomas was watching him, eyes narrowed and shrewd. The look made him catch his breath before carefully saying, "We've been looking over the research. There are several interesting theories I wanted to run through a computer."

Thomas's eyes hardened. "I see." A long silence stretched between them. Finally, the General said, "While I understand the use of the computer may be helpful later, right now I would like to see some results before I grant you access. I am certain you know enough about the vortex to not require immediate use of the computer."

Damn! The man had spotted that lie far too quickly. Lucas inhaled deeply, trying to calm his taut nerves. What the hell was he supposed to tell this man?

Lucas decided to try a new strategy. He met the General's eyes, making a face. "I'm intelligent, General, but even _I_ need a computer," he insisted stubbornly, trying his best to look like an annoyed scientist with an enormous chip on his shoulders. "If you want me to put together your damned weapon, I need the computer. I don't get it, Thomas boy, I start not doing a thing for you or your stupid little proj--"

Abruptly, Lucas's voice squeaked as Thomas lifted him bodily from the floor and slammed him against the wall. His head struck the wall, then again . . . then again. He choked in pain, staring at the General's eyes. Cold onyx stared back at him: uncaring, unfeeling, completely without emotions. Not even anger raged through those eyes, as it had before; instead, the eyes were empty. Lucas shuddered despite Thomas's tight grip on his throat, despite the throbbing in his head and body. Dead eyes. That was what they were.

The world span around him as spots of light exploded in his vision. Blackness slowly swirled around his head. The pressure on his throat tightened. Thomas continued to smack his head against the wall.

"Do you think me a fool, Wolenczak?" the man hissed, voice so low that Lucas could barely hear him. "Do I _look_ like a fool?"

Lucas opened his mouth to reply, but found he could not. Ropes of fire burned around his throat. Pain shot through his skull. More sparks of light shimmered before his eyes, rapidly replacing the General's face in his vision.

"I am _not_ a fool, Wolenczak," Thomas whispered, breathing into his face, eyes within inches of Lucas's own. Without further word, the hands crushing into Lucas's throat disappeared.

A doll ripped of its stuffing, Lucas fell to the ground. Nelson quickly helped him into a sitting position, hands cradling Lucas's head. With an angry, simmering glare directed at Thomas, he carefully rested Lucas's head on his shoulder.

Thomas looked at the Commander, his expression unreadable. "Bring him with you. You have one more stop to make."

Not even bothering to look behind him, Thomas headed towards the door. He pushed it open after unlocking it, then barked, "Bidea! Welton!"

Slowly, Nelson stood, arms firmly supporting Lucas. The boy seemed nearly unconscious, though Nelson had been grateful for the slight moan he'd heard as he helped him up. He was breathing with difficulty--probably from the pressure placed on his throat--and hadn't reopened his eyes yet. He was, however, able to stand, which was a good sign. Nelson forced himself to ignore the dark handprints on his throat.

Thomas was looking at two men who had just appeared in nondescript slate gray uniforms. They were standing at perfect attention, spines straight as bars, looking only briefly towards the two prisoners. "Escort them to the room."

Nelson swallowed heavily, not liking the sound of this at all: the room. For some reason, it had a particularly ominous ring to it. This was especially true as he saw both men stand even straighter at attention.

After a sharp, military nod, the guards moved. They headed towards Nelson and Lucas, grabbed both of them, and shoved them forward. Lucas would have crashed into the floor if Nelson hadn't quickly reached over to grab the boy. As it was, he was still barely standing on his feet when they started heading into the hall.

They dragged on, Lucas stumbling several times, but slowly seeming to awaken to his surroundings. His eyes slid open drunkenly, and he moaned softly as the light struck at sensitive eyes. Nelson simply tightened his grip around Lucas's shoulders.

Several halls away--but not, Nelson absently noticed, up--they at last arrived before a large door. Two guards stood before it, faces impassive. They didn't even seem to breathe. Nelson watched as one of his guards quickly pushed in a number on a control pad attached to the door.

A bolt snapped; the door opened slightly, a light _click_ drifting through the air.

Darkness met Nelson's eyes as he peered inside. He could see nothing.

Without word, the two guards pushed Lucas and Nelson in.

The door slammed shut behind them.    
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*****

  
  
  
  
  


Head aching tremendously, Lucas looked around the room--or tried to. All that met his eyes was an unbroken cloak of ink. Darkness, everywhere. He couldn't even see his own hand. He shuddered, swallowing hard as he wondered what Thomas planned next. He'd obviously failed in misdirecting the man; hell, Lucas conceded that he'd failed miserably . . . so miserably, in fact, that he'd ended up having his head pounded into the nearest wall for his efforts.

Nausea rushed through his stomach as he turned his head, hearing breathing beside him. It seemed to be to his right . . . no, maybe his left. Confused, Lucas blinked his eyes. What the hell?

The breathing was coming from two different directions.

"Nel--Nelson?" he whispered softly, voice strained as he forced himself to speak against the pain. His throat still burned, aching from Thomas's grip. As he spoke, he blindly slid his hands around him. "Nel--son? Wh--where . . .?"

He heard a noise at his side; a hand collided with his own, then fiercely squeezed it. Second's later, a voice softly whispered, "It's all right. It's me, Lucas. I'm right here."

Nelson's voice calmed him immensely. However, alarm coursed through his frame when he heard a rustle of clothing: a rustle of clothing far too distant to have been Nelson. His throat suddenly felt tight, constricted. He gripped Nelson's hand, painfully whispering, "Di-did you . . ."

"Shh. Yes, I heard it, too." Nelson quickly replied; it was obvious that speaking hurt like hell. He lifted his voice, addressing the dark room. "Hello? Who's there?"

A moment's pause, then Lucas heard a voice guardedly reply, "Who are you?"

"I'm Commander Dean Nelson. I was a computer analyst with the Non-Allied Powers." Lucas blinked at the decisive use of the word _was._ His heart wrung for the man, knowing that Nelson had truly believed in NAP's ideals. "I have Lucas Wolenczak with me. He's . . ."

"Wolenczak?" the voice snapped back, new life suddenly appearing in it. Lucas's eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. Somehow, he knew it. "Wolenczak, how the _hell_ did Nathan get you mixed up in this?"

Lucas abruptly recognized the voice. His head pounded at the knowledge. This was anything but comforting. Thomas had brought _him_ into this mess?

Why the hell would he do such a stupid thing? It was like . . . like kidnapping the . . . hell, Lucas couldn't even think of a suitable analogy.

Lucas's thoughts abruptly scattered as he heard a noise in front of the door.

The door opened. His heart thudded in his chest as light flooded the room. He could vaguely make out two blurry figures standing in the light, but that was all he could tell. Lucas blinked against the glare, shielding his eyes with a hand as, in pain, he finally turned away.

He heard a sudden curse, one that drifted angrily through the air. For a second, he blinked.

Blackness once more settled in the room as the door slammed shut. There was a momentary silence.

However, the silence was interrupted as one of the room's newest visitors muttered, language punctuated by a fist whacking into the floor, "Damn that bastard! Damn his rotten hide to hell! I'll take that beast and remove his sick . . ."

Lucas's eyes snapped wide. He stared into the darkness. He knew that voice. He'd recognize it any day.

Verbal chaos reigned momentarily as two voices spoke at the same time. 

"Cap--Captain!" Lucas squeezed out through his injured throat.

"What the crispy hell are you doing here, Nathan?" A second voice joined Lucas's, nearly over-running the teen's soft syllables.

Less than a split second passed before Nathan Bridger's voice rung through the air: "Lucas? _Bill?_ What the . . . never mind, never mind, I don't even want to know. Where are you two?" Bridger moved, then cursed as he crashed into something. His hands reached in front of him, trying to find anyone in the darkness. "Lucas, speak for me so I can find you. You, too, Bill. I can't see a damned thing in here."

"I'm over to the right. I think I'm right behind Lucas." There was a sound of movement as Noyce started heading out of his corner.

"O--over here, Ca--capt . . ."

"I hear you, kiddo. Hang in there. I'm coming." Another muttered curse hung in the air as Bridger thumped against something else. "Blasted stuff all over the floor . . . damn that idiot . . . I'm going to strangle him alive . . ." A sudden yelp sounded; Bridger came to a halt. "Noyce, is that you?"

"No. I'm still behind Lucas."

"Well, who the hell did I just plant my foot into? Lucas? Was that you?"

"No, it was me, sir."

"Me?" The perplexed undercurrents of the Captain's voice were unmistakable. "Just who is _me?"_

"That . . . w-would b-be . . ."

"Lucas, it's okay. I can introduce myself," Nelson said softly. He then addressed the invisible man who had stood upon his hand just seconds ago. "I'm Commander Dean Nelson. I . . ."

"_Nelson?"_ Bridger snapped. He shook his head. "What in all of creation are you doing _here?"_

"You know him, Nathan?" Noyce asked from somewhere in the room.

"Of course he knows him!" Kristin Westphalen's voice abruptly sounded in the room. Lucas stared, not having realized that she had been the second figure drug inside the room. Irritation hung in every letter she uttered. "Nelson was on the . . . oh, dear." She paused, clearly worried as she made the connection. "Nathan, don't you see? Nelson was on the _Ulysses."_

"Damn!" Nathan cursed, fists tight. "Just great! There's that ridiculous, over-priced, technologically-absurd _boat _rearing its high-financed hull again! Damn, damn, _damn . . ."_

"Nathan!" Kristin interrupted. She cleared her throat. "Lucas is here!" 

"Dr. Westphalen? You're here, too?" Noyce asked, surprised; he ignored Nathan's annoyed tirade. "Why would Thomas take you?"

"Well, I _don't know._ If I knew, I would be a criminal mastermind myself, Admiral. Why don't you ask _him."_

"I just might do that, Doctor!" Noyce snapped, obviously riled. "I'll probably discover it was to torture the prisoners! And I bet it would work real well, too, judging . . ."

"Hey, will you two shut up?" Bridger interrupted. He sighed. Though they were usually on good terms, Kristin and Bill always seemed to run aground of one another when bad things started to happen: this was certainly one of those times. Nathan knew it had started when Kristin Westphalen disobeyed orders and fired several torpedoes; however, he suspected it was simply because both of them argued to relieve stress.

Lucas leaned his head into his arms, stifling a groan. He wasn't in the mood for this, and his head was pounding. Just what he needed: Kristin Westphalen chewing out Admiral Noyce when they had the ranting lunatic Thomas coming for their throats. 

"Lucas? Hey, Lucas, where are you?" Nathan suddenly asked, realizing that he hadn't heard Lucas for several minutes. The kid usually wasn't this quiet. "Lucas, answer me."

Nelson moved beside him, nudging Lucas. With a soft moan, Lucas lifted his head, wishing they would all shut up so he could get some sleep. "I--I'm he--here . . ."

Bridger frowned, now genuinely worried. He heard Kristin starting to head towards them. "Lucas, you sound horrible. What the hell happened?" He paused, reaching his hands out. A firm hand--probably Nelson's--suddenly gripped his, then moved his hand towards a shoulder. He felt Lucas's turtleneck and sighed in relief.

Nelson answered for him, speaking loud enough for both Kristin and Nathan to hear. "Thomas . . . worked him over for a few minutes."

"And just where were you, Mister Nelson, when all this happened?"

Nelson recognized the snapping voice as Dr. Westphalen's. He grimaced. "I was in the same room. I'm sorry. I know . . ."

"H--he c--c--couldn't help . . ."

"Shush, dear. Don't talk any more. You'll make it worse." She finally reached their sides, bumping into Bridger, then Nelson, then, finally, Lucas. Bridger heard Noyce moving in towards them and quickly guided his friend over with his hands. Kristin continued her rampage against Nelson, "Now, Mister Nelson, what exactly happened, and why didn't you stop it from happening?"

"I--it's n--not like h--he . . ."

"Hush, Lucas. If you try to talk one more time, I'll have Nathan hold something over your mouth." Lucas would have growled, but knew it would only make things worse. He also knew--all too well--that Dr. Westphalen would really follow through with her threat if he didn't do as asked. "Mister Nelson, I believe you were about to explain why you let a teenager get 'worked over' while you stayed safely away?"

Her voice was cold, almost mean. Lucas shuddered, feeling sorry for Nelson even as he was glad that the voice wasn't directed against him.

"The man attacked out of nowhere. But I am sorry. It's no excuse, and I know it," Nelson answered softly. He cleared his throat. "Thomas got upset with him. He picked him up and started throwing him against the wall."

"Oh. I see," she all but hissed at Nelson. Lucas winced, then sighed as he felt Kristin's hands on his forehead. "Anything else? This doesn't seem to account for his voice."

Lucas could hear Nelson shifting nervously on the floor. He didn't blame him. "Thomas held his hands up against Lucas's throat as he hit his head against the wall."

A startled silence filled the room. Lucas heard Bridger curse under his breath. The Captain then wrapped him in a hug, resting his chin on Lucas's head. Kristin inhaled sharply. Noyce rapped his knuckles against the floor, muttering something Lucas couldn't hear.

"We'll take care of you, kiddo. That bastard won't get his hands on you again," Bridger whispered angrily, tightening his arms around Lucas. Tears burned in Lucas's eyes as he desperately wished the words could be true, but feared they couldn't be. Thomas had them; no matter what Bridger did, Thomas was still in control of their lives. He suspected Captain Bridger knew this, but he also knew that Bridger didn't need to be reminded of it. "Well, this dark room should be good for something. Why don't you try to get some sleep before . . ."

Abruptly, Bridger's voice stopped. Lucas's head popped up, his eyes frightened, as the door once more opened. Several figures stood outlined against the hall's light; one of the figures slumped heavily, seeming to be made of cloth.

A hand reached around into the hallway. The lights abruptly clicked on. Pain shot through Lucas's eyes as the harsh light blinded him. 

He looked up, finally able to partially focus his eyes. He could see five men dressed in the slate gray uniforms, all with expressionless, emotionless faces. He swallowed hard as he saw that one of them was carrying a pouch that seemed to have needles in it.

Thomas, naturally, was also in the room, his face gloating as he met Bridger's infuriated eyes. His expression turned almost triumphant as he stared at Noyce.

However, Noyce didn't even spare the General a glance. His eyes were riveted upon the seventh new figure in the room, the one that slumped in Thomas's arms. Blood wound down her face, bruises covered her arms, and her eyes focused on nothing.

"Alicia," he whispered softly, face white, colorless. He swallowed heavily, shaking his head. "Oh, God, Alicia."

Thomas threw Alicia Noyce, Admiral Noyce's daughter, against the floor. He carelessly stepped over her, ignoring her battered body as he headed towards his target.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  


Lucas tensed, his muscles bunching painfully, as General Thomas arrowed straight for him. He pressed further into Bridger's side, wishing the Captain's arms could somehow protect him from the lunatic even now gazing upon him with such wild-eyed, almost frenzied intensity. However, he suspected that if Thomas wanted him, Thomas would get him. 

Lucas shut his eyes as the thought fully worked its ways through his mind. It was soul-rending, making him tremble despite every intention he held of looking brave in front of this madman. In this time, in this place, Bridger could offer nothing more than comfort. Lucas wanted to deny the implications of this truth, but he knew he couldn't. Even if he tried, General Thomas was standing right in front of him to make such a denial impossible. And the truth was simple: the security he felt near his Captain was illusory. The Captain could only try to protect him; however, he could never take complete control of the situation. 

Lucas couldn't even take complete control of what happened to him. This helplessness, this inability to protect himself and the ones he loved . . . it ripped him inside. Lack of control over his own life had spotted Lucas's short years with pain. There had been his parents, who hadn't cared for him, but had instead seen him as some sort of convenient stress relief program, a perfect person to yell at or hit when life became too tense. There had been the million and one disasters the _seaQuest_ had been in since he'd been aboard--another situation over which he had had no control. And there had been the _Ulysses_ mess, the one that had brought him--like it or not--right back here: right back here, facing the pits of tar Thomas called eyes as they drilled into his mind. 

Shuddering, Lucas found himself staring back, his eyes seeming frozen to Thomas's own gaze. He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.

God. This was going to be another of those "Lucas has no control" situations, wasn't it? Trembles ran through his hands, his fingers. Hell, he was going to have absolutely no control over the situation when Thomas started pounding into him . . . again.

Bridger's hand tightly gripped his own. As if awaiting a blow, Captain Bridger stiffened, trying his best to push Lucas out of the General's reach.

Despite himself, Lucas found himself staring almost dazedly at the General's hands. They were large, well-boned. They would do well at beating almost every whisper of breath out of him, probably just as well as his father's. He supposed, had they known each other, they would have been best friends: Dad the maniac and Thomas the madman. Wincing, Lucas glanced away, now looking at the men with the needles. Perhaps Thomas would choose to torture him that way, instead.

Thomas paused in front of Bridger and Lucas, looking from one face to the next. He smiled.

Time seemed to slow, to narrow to the pulsing of Lucas's heart: _beat, babump, beat, bathump, beat._ The General reached for him, his hand clasped in a claw-like shape. Down he stretched, eyes set on Lucas's face, never looking away. 

Yet . . . he stopped . . . as if suddenly deciding the teenager wasn't really the one he wanted. His hand hovered over Lucas's head: still, deadly. The second stretched into a minute, perhaps more. Bridger moved beside him, ready to interfere, body tense. 

But the hand crept deliberately away from Lucas.

General Thomas moved on.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  


Relief flooded Lucas's mind. It charged through him, then rocked to a stop.

Lord, no. Please, _no._

_Panic._

Wide-eyed, Lucas watched as the General worked his way, his steps intimidatingly slow and measured, towards Admiral Noyce. He swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest . . . even as self-loathing struck. How could he feel relief when Thomas was going to torture someone else? Even more, how could he feel relief when Thomas was going to torture someone he cared for, someone he called "colleague"? 

Hatred filled him: hatred of himself, hatred of what he could be.

His own emotions sickened him. Was he really so weak that he would wish suffering upon someone else? The guilt continued to war within his mind as the General's feet, at last, came to rest in front of Bill Noyce.

Lucas could almost feel his own heart stop in time with Thomas's feet.

Again, time froze.

Noyce met General Thomas's eyes with rage. Yet Lucas could see the man's hands trembling, could see his eyes slide towards Alicia Noyce's unmoving figure. In confusion, Lucas watched as Noyce continued to stare at his daughter. Why wasn't Noyce rushing to Alicia's aid when the two of them were close? For heaven's sake, Alicia was his daughter; how could he simply leave her there?

But just as the thoughts worked through his mind, Lucas realized that that was exactly what Noyce feared most: drawing Thomas's attention back towards Alicia, who was even now barely breathing.

The General's move was swift when it finally came. As if out of nowhere, the man reached for Noyce, pulling the Admiral to his feet by his collar. With barely a flinch, Noyce met the man's eyes; he then looked towards Lucas and Bridger, towards Westphalen and Nelson, and towards his daughter . . . and smiled.

More minutes halted, ached for the Admiral. Lucas watched, helpless, as Thomas dragged Noyce towards a chair in the room. He realized with disgust that the chair was exactly like the one he'd seen in the previous room: reclining, built with straps to confine, to torture.

No. He would not allow it. No, no . . . no.

As his heart continued to pound, Lucas started to rise, mind set on coming between Noyce and Thomas. This man was Bridger's best friend, the closest thing the Captain had to family. They'd been through years of both crises and triumphs together. Noyce had probably even saved Bridger's life by bringing him aboard the _seaQuest. _Noyce's age also frightened Lucas; the Admiral could all too easily suffer a heart attack or a stroke under Thomas's beatings. And, hell, Lucas wasn't going to idly stand by as another human being was tortured. Never. Not by some fiend like General Thomas.

Especially when it was him--Lucas Wolenczak, creator of the damned vortex in the first place--that the General truly wanted.

Lucas moved, lunged forward. Yet his body suddenly thudded against Bridger's. He looked up to see the Captain holding him back with a grip Lucas would have sworn was made of steel. Bridger met his eyes before shaking his head. He refused to let Lucas look away.

General Thomas's fist curled. He prepared to strike.

Releasing Lucas, Bridger suddenly rushed to Noyce's side himself. Lucas's stomach twisted into pained knots as he saw his Captain push Thomas's hand away. Noyce moved, Thomas moved, Bridger moved: they all moved at once.

The General's large fist blurred in his sight. Noyce pushed Bridger out of the way . . . then, from what Lucas could tell, Bridger pushed Noyce out of the way . . .

Only to be pushed out of the way as Nelson slammed his body into the trio, pushing both Bridger and Noyce down as he took their places.

_Will not allow this, will not allow this, will not . . ._

"No!" Someone screamed, a scream ripped from deep within. The cry reverberated throughout the room. For a moment, everyone turned towards the voice's owner. Lucas suddenly realized that the voice was his own, one screeched out past teeth now chattering. He felt tears burning in his eyes. "It's m--me you want, isn't it, Thomas?"

Shakily, Lucas stood, aware of the eyes plastered to his body. He was dimly aware of Kristin reaching her hands towards him, but he moved away from her. With trepidation, he approached the General, watching as Thomas's face twisted into a frightening smile.

"If y--you want m--me, c--come for m--me . . . not t--them."

The smile on Thomas's face widened. He dropped his hand from Bridger's throat. "Does it bother you, Wolenczak, to see them hurt?"

Carefully, Bridger slid towards the teenager. His hand slipped on top of Lucas's shoulder; he started edging the boy behind him, only to have Lucas wriggle from his hands. "Lucas!" Bridger hissed, trying to shove Lucas back behind him.

Lucas simply ignored Bridger's words. He stared at Thomas, then smiled slightly. "C--come a--after me, T--thomas. W--why work on them when y--you really w--want to h--hurt me?"

"But that is exactly it, Wolenczak," Thomas started, his smile widening. He grabbed Noyce's shoulder.

Lucas watched in confusion; it was Lucas the General wanted, right? So why wasn't Thomas coming for him? 

Thomas smiled at his confusion. Most obligingly, he explained, "I don't want to hurt you. You're too valuable." He threw Noyce into the chair, looking back at his audience. "However, to make you do as I wish, I have no problem hurting your friends."

Horrified realization struck. Lucas shut his eyes.

God Almighty, he had just played straight into Thomas's hands.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
